Disclaimers: You know the drill.
Dont own them. Just like them. Look familiar, but theyre not.

Violence: Nah. Well, not really
bad.

Subtext: In this one there may
be a smidge. Nothing major; certainly not graphic by any stretch.

Note: This short isnt exactly
a Halloween story per se, but more just a story that happens to take place on
October 31st, and has a bit of an eerie feel to it. Enjoy.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

If youd like to tell
me what a wonderful writer I am, or that I royally suck, feel free at: XenaNut@hotmail.com

"The case of the woman brought
into the hospital last Tuesday still remains a mystery to San Diego police.
The woman, dubbed as Jane Doe, had been involved in a hit and run accident,
and lay in a coma for the past five days.

"Area police are asking
anyone who may have some details as to the identity of this woman, please contact
Sgt. Tony DiOfrio. Jane Doe is estimated to be in her mid to late twenties,
black hair, and blue eyes." the news announcer said, his voice smooth,
velvety. "Today in weather,"

A woman stepped around the corner
from the kitchen, her short, blonde hair standing on end, her legs bare with
only an over-sized night shirt on. She plopped down on the black leather couch
across from the set, and watched with droopy green eyes as Rod Jenner announced
the weather.

"More rain." she muttered,
stifling a yawn. Last night had been long and draining, trying to attempt to
get all the figures that her short, bald, idiotic, sexually frustrated boss
had asked for. She was an accountant for a large firm in downtown San Diego.
If the money werent so good, she would have told her short, bald, idiotic,
sexually frustrated boss, Dennis Davies to go to hell.

The blonde turned her head when
she heard the scraping of metal tags against the wood floor. Her basset hound,
Spud trotted across the living room of the condo, his big, droopy eyes half
closed as usual, dark brown ears dragging next to his wrinkled feet.

"Hello, my boy." she
cooed, scooping him up into her arms, and laying him on his back in her lap,
his big ears spread out like wings on her legs. In answer he stuck his tongue
out so it lulled to the side as he panted. The blonde grinned. "Howd
I get such a short, wrinkled little son?" she asked, scratching his chest.
He whined, squirming against her thighs, large paws pawing at the air. "You
know," she said, looking at the basset hound speculatively, "You almost
look like my boss." Spud whined again, almost as if he knew just what kind
of insult that was. The blonde chuckled. "Just kidding, my boy." She
set the dog down onto the couch, and stood, stretching her arms above her head
and groaned, then headed off to the bathroom and the shower.

Spud tried to dig himself a comfy
spot on the leather, then plopped down, his short little legs folded up underneath
him, his big brown eyes trying to stay open, but slowly closing as he listened
to the outrageous voice of his owner belting out the classics to the beat of
the pounding water pressure. He raised his head, staring off in the direction
of the hallway that led to the bathroom. With a small whine, he lowered his
head, and closed his eyes with a doggy groan.

"San Francisco! San Francisco!"
the blonde sang, her eyes closed as she rinsed her short hair before grabbing
the bottle of Pantene, and squeezing a blob of the fragrant shampoo onto her
palm. She stopped, biting her lip as she rubbed the goop into her golden locks,
realizing that she had forgotten the words to the song. "San Francisco,"
she muttered, running her fingers absently through the soapy, gooey hair, working
the strands together, and slowly bringing them up between her palms, making
an impromptu Mohawk. "San Francisco, San. Ah, hell." She thought for
a moment, her hands still working steadily on her new hairstyle, the very tip
flopping over to the left. "On top of old smoky, all covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed!"

Spud whined again, burying his
face into the pillow at the arm of the couch.

"Okay, big guy. Have to
go." the blonde said to the basset hound who still camped out on the couch.
He raised his head, then plopped it down again. The blonde made her way into
the kitchen, buttoning the cuffs of her cream colored silk blouse, fastening
her earrings. She walked into the kitchen, grabbing her travel mug from the
strainer next to the double stainless steel sink, and walked to the end of the
counter, by the phone, toward the coffee pot. She still whistled Old Smoky under
her breath, but stopped, the last note falling from her lips in a breath. No
coffee.

"What the," she leaned
down, examining the pot, noting the switch that read ON. She looked into the
basket. The grounds were still there, mocking her with their strong aroma. "No
way," she muttered, flipping the switch off then on again. Nothing. "Damnit!"
that was the third coffee pot to die on her in as many months. "Piece of
junk." She grumbled, tossing the travel mug back into the strainer. Glancing
at the wall clock above the stove, she saw that she was already running a bit
late. Now she had to make a stop at Starbucks. She felt jittery without her
morning caffeine. "Damnit."

The day was chilly, considering
it was late October. The blonde stopped for a moment, realizing that it was
Halloween. She raised her brows in surprise, then headed on out toward the parking
lot next to the building. Perhaps shed have to grab a bag of candy on
her way home from work. There had been a few trick-or-treaters in the building
the year before.

"How do, Miss. Lauren?"
the doorman asked as he walked around the side of the building, taking the yellow
dishwashing gloves off his large hands. The blonde grinned at the gloves.

"More doggy runs, huh?"
she asked. The large, dark man nodded.

"Yep. Think folk'sd
be able to pick up after they own animals."

"Have a good one, Tyrone."
The blonde said, shaking her head and patting the man on the arm.

The parking lot was empty, most
of the cars already gone. The blonde saw her BMW right away toward the back
of the lot. She had gotten home late the night before, and had to park out in
the boonies. She brought her key ring up, and clicked the little blue button
on her alarm remote, the black car chirping to life as she walked to it. When
the blonde reached her car, she stopped, the hair on the back of her neck standing
on end. A slight shiver running down her spine. She opened the door, standing
between it and the car itself, and turned, expecting to see Sid Metcalfe, the
strange old man from 32B who loved to sneak up on her. No one.

"Come on, old man. Im
ready for ya." she muttered, as she looked around the deserted lot. Still
no Sid.

The blonde turned back to her
car, but could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. She shivered
again, and got into the car.

The drive to Starbucks was punctuated
by groans of irritation as folks in the city seemed to have nowhere to go, and
no specific time to be there.

"Come on!" the blonde
shouted at the little blue Chevy truck in front of her. "In this country
green means drive!" the truck continued to sit right on through to the
red light, the drivers head bent down, obviously finding the morning paper
much more interesting than the road. The blonde laid in on her horn, trying
to snap the man out of it. She gasped as she saw an arm fly through his window,
a middle finger attached. "My god." She breathed. The blonde completely
understood the reasoning behind road rage. Finally, as the light turned green
a second time, the blue Chevy puttered off, covering the black BMW with a cloud
of foul smelling smoke. "Jerk."

The parking lot for Starbucks
was crammed with cars. The blonde sat behind the wheel, staring at them, all
gleaming under the early morning sun.

"Damn." she muttered,
knowing that though this was a bad thing, her without her morning coffee was
even worse. She needed something strong. Something that others would say would
put hair on her chest. Well, she supposed she could just drink the coffee that
she knew would be left in the pot from yesterday in the employee lounge. "Damn,"
she said again, pulling into a parking space, yet again, out in the boonies.

The noise level was hideous for
eight-fifteen in the morning. The blonde hated mornings, especially when they
were turning out as shitty as this one. She groaned when she saw the swarm of
people mobbing the counter. Five flustered workers ran circles around each other
trying to fill orders.

"Damn." The blonde
muttered as she looked around, trying to determine where the line actually ended.
No formal pattern visible, so she just picked someone, and stood behind them,
tapping her fingers impatiently against the side of her skirted leg. She looked
down at her watch. "Damn.

Finally, large mocha latté
in hand, the blonde made her way through the crowd that was like Grape nuts;
the more people who left, the longer the line. She hurried out to her car, sipping
the hot brew as she went, plopping down in the drivers seat, closing her
eyes in pleasure as the strong coffee made its way down her throat.

"Oh, yeah." She smiled
with a contented sigh, setting the cup into the cup holder attached to her dashboard,
and started up the car.

She officially had twelve seconds
to get to work. No problem. She grumbled to herself again as she pulled out
of the parking lot, and onto the main strip.

"Man, you are out of your
friggin mind." Darryl said, frowning at his buddy, Roger who sat
next to him in the dump truck.

"Nah, Im telling you
the truth, Dar. She stuck her ass in my face. Darryl glanced briefly at
the road, then turned back to his friend, disbelieving eyes beginning to turn
into a wistful look.

"Did she a, did she have
a nice ass?" Darryl asked, swallowing. Roger looked at him like he was
stupid.

"Of course she did! How
do you think she got that job dancin anyway?"

"Look out!" Darryls
head snapped around just in time to see a little black BMW heading toward the
intersection. "Shit, red light, dude!"

"I know, I know! Shiiiiit!"
Darryl pushed his foot down onto the brakes as hard as he could, hearing the
heavy load of the truck groan with the burden.

The blonde glanced at the dash
clock, and groaned. She was so late. She saw up ahead that the light was still
green, but had been for a while, and didnt want it to change before she
could get through. She went to press down on the gas pedal when out of the corner
of her right eye she saw a blurb of black beginning to step off the curb, and
slammed on the brakes, the car skidding slightly as it came to a stop. Breathlessly,
she glanced to the sidewalk to see if the person was okay. She drew her brows;
no one was there. Then her head snapped around in time to see a huge dump truck
fly by, dirt flying out of the back as the driver was trying to stop. Her heart
was beating out of her chest as she watched the truck finally slow, only to
begin to pick up speed again. She watched until the truck was out of sight.
Placing her hand to her chest, she glanced to the sidewalk again, trying to
see what could have possibly caught her eye. No one was there save for the old
guy with his grocery cart who stood under the overhang of Gibs Shoe Shop.
Instinctively she knew that the old man had not been what she had seen. If she
had seen anything at all.

"Gah!" the looked down
as she felt something burning. Her large mocha latté had flown from the
cup holder, and had slammed into her, spilling the hot fluid all down the front
of her silk blouse. "Damnit!" she hollered, swiping at the stain with
a napkin from Starbucks. With a sigh, she downed the rest of the coffee, setting
the empty cup back into the holder, and staring down at herself. A large, dark
brown stain in the shape of what almost looked like Texas, spotted her left
breast, the tip of Texas running downward. She dabbed at it with the napkin,
stopping it. "What an auspicious beginning." she muttered, and got
the car back on the road.

The Fentnal building was large,
boasting more than forty-eight floors to house law offices, banking headquarters,
and of course the accounting firm where Lauren worked. It was even rumored that
Anthony Hopkins had an office somewhere in the place.

She hurried to the front door,
briefcase in hand as she passed by the front desk, not even bothering to say
hello to Kayla who was the receptionist. She just gave her a backward wave as
she raced off toward the elevators. The blonde watched the floors slowly light
up as she waited for the number twelve to be lit.

"Come on." She chanted,
finally a loud ding filling the car, and the doors slid open. The blonde hurried
down the hall, then slowed, steeling herself for when she had to pass Davies
office. Taking a deep breath, she revved up her internal engine, and tried to
zoom past.

"Lori!" she heard slither
out of the door.

"Lauren." she hissed
quietly through her smile as she turned to face the open door. There stood the
short, bald, idiotic, sexually frustrated Dennis Davies.

"How goes it?" the
little man stood from his desk, and hurried around it to stand a mere two feet
away from the accountant. She noted with disgust the partial erection visible
through his badly fitted pants. Lauren took a casual step back, smiling at the
man she detested. Davies smiled back, staring. She took in his short stature,
putting him nearly at eye-level with her own five-four frame. His balding head
bouncing reflections of the overhead light around, except where his comb-over
was. His beady little eyes, nearly gun-metal gray, stared at her through black
rimmed glasses, his long, clefted nose jutting out from under them. His tight-lipped
smile widened as he took in her blouse, and the Texas stain across it. "Tough
morning?" he asked, his bushy brows raising then falling. Lauren nodded,
but just kept on smiling. "Thats too bad. I need those figures as
soon as possible. As in five minutes ago." He said, that same tight-lipped
smile on his lips. Damn, was he a ventriloquist, or what?

Instead of asking, Lauren smiled,
nodded, and backed out of the office, nearly sprinting down the hall to her
own office.

The one window showed a beautiful
fall day outside. The trees danced gracefully with the breeze, people walking
along the sidewalks, cars zooming down the streets. Lauren gazed, her chin propped
on her left hand, her right clutching the pen that had been writing notes and
figures on the yellow legal pad on her desk blotter. With a sigh she tore her
eyes from the scene, and turned her attention back to her work. Green eyes widened
when she saw that she had been unconsciously doodling. She drew her brows as
she examined the drawing. It was a figure of some sort. She turned the pad,
examining it from a different angle. Yes, definitely a figure. Black, as will
happen when black ink is used. The silhouette of a person. The person was in
profile, but not really, wearing a baseball cap, the bill seemed to be pulled
low as very little of the facial feature outlines could be seen. A jacket, or
bulky sweater, or just something bulky, was worn along with pants. There were
no defining lines, as in silhouettes, all lines blended together. Lauren dropped
the pen and sat back in her chair. Strange. She wondered where that had come
from. She was an incessant doodler, but usually she actually had a clue she
was doing it.

"Gah!" she screamed
for the second time that day when the harsh buzz of her intercom phone filled
the room. "Y-yes?" she placed her hand over her heart, closing her
eyes as she tried to calm.

"Hello, Lucinda." Oozed
the response.

"Lauren." she muttered.
God, she hated that short, bald, idiotic, sexually frustrated man. "Yes,
Mr. Davies?" she asked in her sweetest voice, literally biting her words
as she spoke them.

"Yes, well I need those
figures ASAP. So, if perhaps you could hop those little buns to it." The
intercom clicked, and Lauren just stared at it. Oh, creepy, creepy little man.

The blonde gathered her stack
of papers in a manila folder, and stood, but then glanced at the clock on the
wall. It was nearly lunch time, and she knew shed be working clear through
lunch once the copies were made.

With a sigh, she tossed the folder
to the desk, searched through the Rolodex, and found the number to Plimptons
deli two blocks over, and dialed. Lunch ordered for delivery, Lauren grabbed
her folder, and headed off toward the copy room.

Irritated beyond belief when
she saw the OUT OF ORDER sign on the copier on her floor, Lauren headed toward
the elevators. She nearly ran as she knew Davies had "the" meeting
in twenty minutes. She stopped just shy of running smack into the stainless
doors of the elevator, and pushed the button with the little down arrow. She
waited, staring up at the lit number band, waiting.

"Come on." The light
stopped at number 3, and did not move again. "What the hell," she
breathed, feeling her blood begin to boil. Lauren looked around, "Aha!"
she exclaimed, taking off toward the red door that led to the stairs. She pushed
it open with the force of a train, and ran on. She felt her heal catch before
she realized what a bad thing this could be. "Oh, crap," she muttered
as her body lurched forward, her shoe slipping off. Lauren lost her hold on
her folder, sending folder and papers flying to scatter on the cement floor.
Lauren saw the rail just ahead of her, the twelve floor fall just beyond. Oh,
god, oh, god! She put her arms out to try and catch herself, but the rail caught
her at her middle, causing her to bend at the waist as the red rail embedded
itself into her gut, knocking the wind out of her. She felt her feet raise off
the floor, but then suddenly she stopped, someone grabbing the back of her shirt.

Lauren grabbed onto the rail,
both feet firmly back on the ground, her breathing out of control as her heart
pounded tons of gallons of blood. She placed her hand over her heart, and turned
to see an amused woman standing behind her, a white paper bag in hand. The blonde
looked down at the bag.

"You okay?" she asked,
snapping Lauren out of her hunger-powered reverie. She blinked up into a face
half covered by a black baseball cap.

"Uh huh. Thank you."

The woman held up her other hand,
a gray high heel swinging from her index finger. "I tried the other two,
but it just didnt fit." Lauren grabbed the shoe, slipping it onto
her foot. "Listen, you want this now, or,?"

"Oh, uh, can you run it
up to my office? Lauren Atwater. I need to go make some copies downstairs."
The woman nodded, turned and left the stairwell. Lauren watched her go. The
woman wore a black leather jacket, the belt swinging at her waist, whacking
her thighs as she walked, and black jeans. With a shrug, the blonde started
out again.

The blonde made her way through
the law offices of Trout/Kline, finding the copy room. She was often on the
eleventh floor, as Trout used their firm for their bookkeeping. She hurried,
smiling when she saw a man and woman with a stack of papers leaving the copy
room. Woohoo. Maybe shed get lucky and be the next in line. Laurens
excitement died when she saw the large woman with the even larger flower-patterned
dress standing in front of the machine. Mary-Margaret Smith. The womans
behind shook back and forth as the old woman moved, slipping three papers into
the sort slot at a time, then when they were copied, shed take the three
out, staple them with the electric stapler on top of the machine, then start
with the next three.

The chipper old woman turned
to look over her shoulder, her eyes lost in the wrinkles and folds of her face.
Her mouth, pushed together to make it pucker, smiled, the dark pink lipstick
she wore smeared on her front teeth.

"Hello!" she said,
her hands automatically still stapling her three pages together. Lauren smiled,
mainly so she wouldnt scream out in frustration. "How are you? This
is such a fine day. Dont you agree? Just lovely. Its chilly, but
not too cold. You know how much I hate the cold. Thats why we moved out
here." The woman covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled, her body
giggling right along with her. Lauren stared down at the papers in Mary-Margaret
Smiths hands, a look of longing in her green eyes.

"Um, do you think youll
be done anytime soon?" she asked. Mary-Margaret Smith glanced back down
at her pile, then back to the blonde.

"Oh, gosh, honey. I just
dont know. I have all these to do, and staple. You know, I really hate
to staple papers. One time I got my finger caught in a stapler,-"

Lauren suddenly got the vision
of Linda Blair as Reagan in The Exorcist, her head spinning around, vomit flying
from her mouth, and then for some reason she could almost feel the handle of
a knife in her hand as she imagined Mary-Margaret Smith taking the place of
Janet Leigh in the shower. Lauren raised her arm, hand in a fist, teeth bared,
then lowered her hand. With a sigh, she waited.

"Well, hi there, Lana."
Davies reached out for the folder Lauren held out to him.

"Lauren." She smiled,
turned and walked out of the office.

Once feeling safe from Davies
eyes and slobbering mouth against her own closed door, Lauren realized that
she had a delivery girl to pay. She looked around her small office, and realized
that there was no delivery girl there. Drawing her brow, she walked over to
her desk, seeing the white paper bag sitting next to her adding machine next
to the yellow legal pad. She saw a note scribbled out on it:

Catch you later for the lunch.
A

Lauren stared at the note for
a moment, then her eyes traveled over to the doodle she had done earlier. She
narrowed her eyes, and grabbed the legal pad, staring at the drawing. The delivery
girl? She stared at the baseball cap that was pulled low, covering much of the
face. She thought back to the woman. She saw very little of her face, actually;
basically only her mouth and chin, the slightest bit of her nose. The woman
had long, very dark hair that was tucked behind her ears.

Lauren sat down, humming the
Twilight Zone theme. She ran her hands through her hair, her bangs falling back
into her eyes. Such a strange day.

Night was creeping in, so Lauren
turned on her desk lamp, spilling a strange yellow hue around her, like a halo
of light, the blackness of her large window behind her. The blonde ran a frustrated
hand through her short hair tired of going over the same numbers all day. Because
that short, bald, idiotic, sexually frustrated little man had decided to change
his pea-sized brain, she had to completely re-do the figures.

Lauren tossed the papers aside,
and sat back in her chair, her back and neck screaming at her, her eyes burning.
The thought of going home to a nice, relaxing shower made her smile, but that
smile died before it really began. She groaned as she remembered that Davies
had given her the file earlier that had to be dropped off at the office across
town. No, could not wait until tomorrow. No, could not be sent by the friggin
delivery guy. No, Lauren Atwater had to do it. She pulled the directions the
old man had given her out from under the stack of papers on the blotter, and
squinted as she tried to read the small, sloppy scroll of her boss. The directions
made no sense whatsoever to her, but she had never been over that way before,
so could not exactly venture out on her own.

"Damn." She mumbled,
and clicked off the desk lamp.

The night had cooled substantially,
and Lauren shivered as she walked out the front door of her office building,
wishing she had worn a jacket. The silk of her blouse making the cold all the
more arresting. She crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable with the
anatomical reaction.

As the blonde hurried to her
car, she drew her brow, the ever present feeling of that morning still with
her. She looked around nervously at the dark parking lot. The three street lamps
were out, and had been for over a week. The strange thing was that even though
the feeling was disconcerting, it did not necessarily scare her. Just didnt
feel right.

"Please dont let me
get raped, please dont let me get raped," became her mantra as she
dug her keys out of her pocket, hitting the blue button. She felt a slight bit
of relief when the car chirped, and she hurried to open the door, tossing the
folder she had to deliver onto the passenger seat, and climbing in.

The streets were relatively bare,
not much going on in the city on a Halloween Monday. Lauren glanced at the directions
Davies had given her again, the piece of paper held in her left hand as it rested
on the wheel. She looked at addresses, seeing she was pretty far out of the
loop, and realized that she was actually in some dangerous territory. The buildings
were old and run down, the night making their empty windows gawk like the vacant
eyes of a skeleton. She shivered at the thought, and reached down to turn the
heater up a notch.

"Damn. I knew I should have
taken a left instead of right." She muttered, still looking for anything
that might look remotely familiar. "Damn." Lauren pulled the BMW to
the side of the road, and looked down at the directions, pulling her city map
out from the pocket in the door, opening it up to try and figure out where the
hell she was. "Okay," she breathed, tracking the road with her finger.
Lauren jumped when she heard a tapping on her drivers side window. She
glanced up to see the smiling face of a man with dark skin, crazy braided hair,
and a knife. Two other men stood behind him, one checking out the car, the other
checking out the driver. "Oh, shit."

"Open up the door, sugar."
The man said, his wide, white grin seemed more like a leer to her. She shook
her head, never taking her eyes off that knife. "Come on, baby. Aint
gonna hurt ya." Again the blonde shook her head. Her eyes widened when
she saw one of the men pull out a gun of some sort. Whatever it was, it looked
rather dangerous. "Come on, now. Me and my boys just wanna play."
The blonde saw the other two begin to split up; one went toward the front of
the car, the other toward the back. She sucked in a breath as she felt the car
move, then again. Back and forth. They were both pushing on the car, making
it move up and down. Lauren closed her eyes, her hands firmly on the wheel,
her body tight as a bow string.

"Oh god, oh god," became
her new mantra. She just wanted to live through it. The rest would just have
to be a bonus at that point. Her breathing was erratic, and she felt absolutely
helpless as the rocking continued.

"Whah-!"

Lauren cracked an eye open, and
saw to her absolute shock and delight a dark figure kicking the utter crap out
of all three men. Two already lay on the ground, one moaning as he held his
crotch, the other knocked out cold. Laurens eyes traveled back to the
one who had been at the window as he fought the savior. He was losing a losing
battle until finally he collapsed to the street with his buddies. Frightened
green eyes looked up as the dark figure walked toward the car. The figure waited
for her to open the door, the window, something, then bent down and tapped on
the glass. Lauren only stared.

"You going to let me in
or not?" a womans voice said, though it was muffled through the glass.
Lauren just stared. The figure stood, arms crossed over a leather-clad chest.
Lauren looked up, and it hit her. The woman with her lunch! The blonde unlocked
the door, nearly hitting her with it as she plowed out of the car, wrapping
her arms around the delivery girl.

"Thank you, thank you,"
she gushed into the womans shoulder, felt the woman pat her back, rubbing
her shoulder. Lauren stopped, remembering where she was, and that she had absolutely
no idea who the woman was, she slowly pulled back from her, giving her an apologetic
smile. "Uh, sorry." She took a step back, her hands folded behind
her back, slightly rocking on the balls of her feet. The woman smiled.

"Its okay." She
looked over the blondes shoulder, and shook her head. "Hope you have
a spare." Lauren followed her gaze, and saw where one of the men had slashed
her tire.

"Damn."

"Listen, um, I think the
car can be driven a little. We kind of need to get out of here." The woman
said, indicating the three unconscious thugs laying on the street behind her.
Lauren nodded, and climbed back into the car, motioning toward the passenger
side for the woman.

The street was even darker and
seemed to ooze danger, but Lauren did not feel afraid for some reason. She stood
out at the side of the quiet street, her arms crossed protectively across her
chest as the woman knelt next to her left rear tire, jacking it up. The blonde
looked down, seeing the womans hat, which she had turned backwards to
work. She squinted against the night to try and see what was on the front. Two
wings. White, feathery wings, and the words: Angels Wings

"What is Angels Wings?"
she asked. The woman began to remove the ruined tire, and grunted,

"Thats my runner business."
She wiped her hands on her jeans, and turned, extending her hand toward the
blonde. "Angel at your service." Lauren smiled, and taking the larger
hand in hers. Lauren drew her brows for a moment, cocking her head to the side.
"What?"

"What are you doing here?"

Angel smiled.

"Oh, Ive been here
and there all day.

"Oh." Lauren looked
around the dark street, praying that Angel would hurry with the tire. She wanted
nothing more than to get the hell out of Dodge.

"There ya go." The
brunette stood, rubbing her hands together, looking down at her handy work.
"All fixed." The blonde looked back up at her, relief shining in her
eyes.

"I cannot thank you enough."
She said, her stomach fluttering, and the events of the past hour beginning
to register. She looked down, her fingers on her forehead.

"Hey. You okay?" the
blonde felt a hand on her shoulder. She nodded, but could not look up for fear
that the woman would see the tears that shone in her eyes. "Come on. Theres
a diner just a few blocks down. Lets get you some coffee. Something to
eat, maybe." The blonde nodded, finally looking up to see the brunette
turning her baseball cap around, the slightest bit of a smile on her lips.

The diner was quiet and mostly
empty, save for a few sitting in old, torn booths, their dirty hands wrapped
around a cup of coffee, or a glass of water. Obviously the diner made a great
motel for the night.

"I know it doesnt
look like much, but they make a mean pastry here." Angel said, grinning
down at her companion who still shook.

"Great." Lauren muttered,
looking around, almost waiting for her eyes to settle on those three men from
earlier.

"Come on." Angel led
them to a back booth, both sliding across the old vinyl, the squeaky seat protesting.
"Youd probably better eat something. May help." The blonde looked
up at the woman, wondering if she were serious.

"I dont think I can.
My stomachs a little to upset."

"Have you eaten since this
afternoon?" Angel asked, her brows drawn in concern. The blonde shook her
head. Angel nodded, and looked over toward the counter. "Hey, can we get
some coffee over here, please, Linda?" the woman behind the counter in
the stained uniform, the ruffly head piece slightly crooked on her wild red
hair, glanced over at them. She stopped writing out a ticket, stared at Angel
for a moment, as if she were seeing a UFO right there in the diner. Angel looked
at her, shaking her head just the slightest bit. Lauren glanced from one to
the other, then back again. She wondered what was going on, and was about to
ask as much when Angel turned back to her with a smile that the blonde could
barely see with the shadow from the caps bill. "You should try their
stew. Its really good here." The blonde continued to stare. "Well,
that is if you like stew."

Deciding to shake off the weird
feeling of her day, Lauren looked down at the sticky menu shed picked
up from between the salt and pepper shakers. She stared through tired eyes at
black letters that made black words that were beginning to make black blurbs.
She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision and her head.

"Hey, you okay?" Lauren
looked up to see Linda the waitress standing at their table, coffee pot in hand.
She placed a squat, cream colored mug in front of the blonde, and poured the
steaming black brew to just below the rim with skilled ease. Lauren nodded.
The waitress poured a cup in front of Angel. "Black, right, honey?"
the brunette nodded, and the waitress walked back to the counter. Angel wrapped
long fingers around her cup, and smiled. Lauren looked at those fingers, pale,
almost clammy. She followed the fingers up to pale hands, some light criss-crossing
scars along the back. She drew her brows.

"What happened?" Angel
looked down at them, and nudged so the long sleeves of the leather jacket would
cover them further.

"Had an accident."

"Oh." Lauren sipped
her coffee, scrunching her nose, and reaching for a little plastic cup of cream,
tearing the foil off the top, spilling the creamy liquid into her cup. "Strong."
Angel nodded with a smile.

"That it is." Angel
entwined her fingers around her cup, closing her eyes for a moment. "Lauren,
do you believe in souls?" the blonde looked up from stirring her coffee,
surprise marking her face.

"Uh, well, guess I never
really thought about it." She set her spoon on the table next to her cup,
and sipped again, the steam rising to make her nose feel slick. "Do you?"
the brunette nodded.

"Very much so," she
took one hand away from the cup, and begin to run her finger along the rim of
the cup, around and around. "I believe one soul can help another."
She looked up, meeting the blondes curious gaze, and smiled. "Kinda
like I helped you tonight." She looked down to her cup again. Lauren sipped
more coffee, reveling in the feeling of the heat as it traveled from her lips
to her stomach, warming her up as it went.

"What can I get ya?"
both women looked up, started, to see Linda smiling from one to the other.

"Um, Im fine. Lauren?"

"Ill have the chili."
The blonde said, handing the waitress her menu. Linda nodded, and walked away,
placing her pen back behind her ear.

"Not hungry, huh?"
Lauren said. "You know, if you dont eat, then I cant pay you
back for lunch." She gave her companion a small smile, which was returned.

"Dont worry about
it. You needed the food more than I needed the money." The blonde narrowed
her eyes, and cocked her head to the side, sizing the brunette up. "What?"
the brunette looked slightly nervous as she met the frank gaze.

"I dont know, but.
Well, for some reason I almost have this feeling like youve been taking
care of me all day. The stairs at work, the lunch order, tonight, the truck
this morning," Lauren stopped, shocked at what she had just said. Angels
expression did not change. Lauren sat back in her seat, her hands in her lap
as she contemplated the delivery girl. "No," she breathed. "No
way." Angel said nothing just watched as she could almost see the wheels
turning in the blondes head. "You were there?" she shook her
head as if to clear it of what she knew was outrageous. "But, there was
no one there." She looked down at the table, talking into her cup. Suddenly
she felt so strange, as if she had just seen a vision and knew what it meant.

Lauren took a deep breath, steadying
herself with her hands upon the vinyl seat of the booth. She slowly scooted
out, looking at Angel, shaking her head slowly from side to side.

"I need to go now."
She said, her voice quiet, but sounding almost mechanical, not her own. Angel
watched her, her eyes almost smiling, and nodded. The blonde, clear of the table,
headed toward the door, and began to push the glass open when she felt a presence
behind her, the same presence from all day.

"Ill get you home.
Youre still in a strange area." Was breathed into her ear.

Lauren nodded. "Ill
say."

The drive back to Laurens
neighborhood was a quiet one, neither feeling a need to say anything, both lost
in her own thoughts. Angel pointed out where to turn with her finger, and Lauren
dutifully turned until finally she knew where she was.

"You can drop me off here."
Angel said suddenly, her voice almost desperate. "Right here. Please."

Lauren slammed on the breaks,
the car slightly skidding as it rested next to the curb. She turned to look
at Angel, who was smiling at her.

"Thanks." The blonde
nodded.

"Thank you."

"Anytime." The brunette
looked deeply into her eyes, as if she were trying to read something so deep
within Lauren that even she did not know it was there. "See you soon."
She said, and the blonde nodded, as if she knew those words were true. Angel
looked at her, then took her cap off, laying it in her lap as she closed the
distance between them. She reached her hand out, gently laying the palm on the
side of Laurens face. The blonde closed her eyes, then felt the softest
lips touch hers, and she responded immediately. With a soft moan, her lips opened,
and she felt the warm wetness of a tongue touch just inside her mouth, tantalizing,
teasing. When she brought her own tongue out to play, the tongue was gone. Lauren
whimpered slightly. She felt more than heard a word breathed against her mouth,

"Bye."

Lauren leaned back, away from
the kiss, her eyes still closed as she absorbed the lingering sensations. With
a sigh, she opened her eyes to find herself alone. Alarmed, she looked around
the street, back behind her, behind the car, squinting to try and see through
the dark night. Nothing. Then it struck her that she was parked along the curb
in the exact same spot she had been that morning after Starbucks, on her way
to work. She saw the sign for Gibs Shoe Shop, and slumped back into her
seat.

"Damn."

Lauren looked around one more
time, looking behind her, then to her right. Her eyes stopped when they spotted
something on the passengers seat. She picked it up, a finger tracing the
rougher texture of the embroidered angels wings on the front of the cap.
She sighed again, suddenly not afraid, and knowing.

With a smile, the blonde put
the cap on, put the car in gear, and drove down the street.

"In other news, late last
night the mystery woman, known as Jane Doe, awoke when she was visited by a
young woman. Jane Doe, finally identified as Angel Norris, smiled at the sight
of her visitor, leaving doctors baffled. In weather news,"